


The Architect and the Treehouse Builder

by storm_of_sharp_things



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Architects, Coffee Shops, Dom and Mal Cobb own an architecture firm, M/M, Treehouses, architect arthur really needs a break, ariadne runs a coffee shop, eames builds treehouses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25315054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storm_of_sharp_things/pseuds/storm_of_sharp_things
Summary: In honor of Inception Day and the 10th Inceptiversary!Arthur's promising New York architecture career comes to a crashing halt after a lawsuit and he takes a minor position in the Cobb's firm in Seattle rather than give it up entirely. Ariadne runs the adorable little coffee shop he finds refuge in. Eames lives in the woods near Seattle and builds treehouses for a living.Arthur lives in an angry haze and Eames may have just the fix for that.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	1. Not Their Best Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arthur is not living his best life...

Since moving to Seattle from New York, Arthur always started his working days with an hour in his favorite coffee shop off Pioneer Square. Ariadne didn’t mind when he brought out his pencils and his sketchbook and took over a corner table, drinking coffee and drawing his most fanciful architectural dreams until it was time to leave for the job that paid his bills and chipped away at the mountain of legal fees left over from the fiasco in New York.

Then he’d trudge two streets over and take the elevator up to the crowded offices of Cobb Architecture, where he’d go back to the drudgery of correcting the design drawings for gas stations and bus stops.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t grateful for the job — he absolutely was. Dom and Mal Cobb had basically created a position for him in their tiny firm after the spectacular lawsuit in New York that had ruined his architecture career. It was just that, if he was never going to be allowed to build the designs he dreamed about, he probably should have just left the field entirely.

But Mal had persuaded him to come to Seattle, had found him a tiny studio apartment downtown, and had brought him to their office and proudly presented him with an ancient desk squeezed in next to a wall and the water cooler.

“It is just temporary, my dear Arthur,” she’d said. “Peter Browning is a lying weasel and he and Maurice Fischer paid off that judge and you have only to wait until he cannot follow up on that magnificent design and then everyone will know it was yours and not his. I cannot _imagine_ what he was thinking when he laid claim to it.” She’d given him a sharp look. “Of course, your case was not helped when you attempted to assault him, but never mind, all will fall out correctly.”

But Arthur wasn’t at all sure of that, and in the meantime, he was angry. He felt like he walked around in a seething cloud of rage all day, and only managed a thin veneer of civilized behaviour by a heroic effort that left him exhausted by nightfall.

The only bright spot in his existence was the hour he spent every morning sipping very good espresso and pouring his heart into his drawings of the fantastical speculative architecture that still glittered at the bottom of his scarred soul.

* * *

Arthur was working on a sketch of a massive and curving bridge that connected downtown Seattle and Bainbridge Island, soared over Puget Sound, and incorporated housing, shops, and offices within its graceful (and admittedly improbable) structure. He’d just paused to sip his coffee and consider the mathematics of the elegant curve when he caught sight of a man sauntering into the coffee shop, all scruffy beard and worn jeans with a too-large sweater and battered work boots, who glanced around with a smile. When he met Arthur’s curious gaze, his eyebrow rose and the smile widened in appreciation. Arthur felt a scowl gather; he was in no mood to be hit on by some unkempt _tautly-muscular_ hipster _with amazing thighs..._

“Hey, Eames!” Ariadne called from the back. “Got your stuff, c’mon back here!”

The man winked at Arthur and meandered behind the counter, stroking the live edge of the wood as he passed before spreading his arms for Ariadne. Arthur watched her throw herself at this Eames enthusiastically, nearly getting lost against his broad chest.

“Ari, my tiny caffeine queen, how has the world been treating you?”

_Fuck,_ Arthur thought. _He’s British. I’m screwed._

Ari grinned up him, waggling her eyebrows. “Well, I can’t speak for the world, but I had a great date last night.”

Arthur felt a pang of longing for the easy and carefree way Eames threw his head back and laughed. “Oh _ho!_ And this date of yours - was she that artist, the one with the strong and competent fingers who sculpts? The one that you’ve been fantasizing about for a month?”

Ariadne smirked even as she blushed. “It’s not polite to kiss and tell.” There was a significant pause, then, “... _yes!_ And omigod, Eames, my dreams did not even come _close!”_

Eames grinned. “Let me take my beans out to the truck and then you can make me a cup and tell me all about it.”

Arthur watched him easily heft a big bag of green coffee and hurriedly gathered up his things. He needed to leave before this ridiculously hot man sat down to chat with Ariadne and left him drowning in lust. There was no room in his head or his heart for even a one-night stand much less what he’d like to do to this ludicrously sexy...

“Oh, heading out early, Arthur?” Ariadne’s voice made him wince, and he turned to find this _Eames_ just standing there, heavy bag casually slung over his shoulder, and his bright _blue? green?_ _grey?_ eyes focused on Arthur.

“Don’t let me drive you away,” the provocative bastard said cheerfully. His eyes tracked down Arthur’s form and back up, and Arthur knew he was taking in the three-piece suit and Italian leather shoes.

“Yes, well, some of us have jobs to get to.” Arthur wanted to yank the words back as soon as he said them, and he grimaced. “Sorry, I...”

Eames’ eyes had sharpened and now he stepped forward with a distracting quirk to his lips _and how had Arthur missed that mouth even with those eyes staring him down and the full curve of those lips were deadly and then the bastard actually licked them..._

“Arthur, right?”

“Er...yes?” _They were basically the same height and all Arthur would have to do is lean forward slightly..._

“Darling, my eyes are up here.”

There was an amused drawl to Eames’ voice that shocked Arthur out of his distraction and raised his hackles. “Yes, well, they’re hardly your best feature, are they?” he snapped. He grabbed his stuff and stormed out, humiliated and angry, ignoring Ariadne as she called his name.

An hour later, while he was still staring at the same dull drawing of the front facade of a car dealership, he realized he’d probably ruined his morning hours at Ariadne’s comfortable little Coffee Bee shop and suddenly he felt more exhausted than he’d ever felt in his life.

* * *

Eames watched the gorgeous man stalk off in unexpected fury and frowned, turning to Ari. “That seemed...disproportionate...”

“Oh Eames, it took me weeks to get Arthur to even crack a smile.” She sighed. “He comes in here, scowling, every morning for an hour and draws the most beautiful buildings, and just when he’s all relaxed his little timer goes off and poof! angry glowering wage slave is back in charge. I hope he comes back.”

She trailed off wistfully and Eames gave her a quick one-armed hug. “I’m sure he will, Ari. Go start a brew and I’ll be right back to have a natter with you about this sculptress of yours.”

He was rewarded by Ariadne’s pink-cheeked giggle as he turned toward his truck. So the enticing angry lad was named Arthur and he drew buildings, hey? He wondered how many architectural firms there were within walking distance of Pioneer Square these days.


	2. Dry Streambeds Remember The Flood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eames locates Arthur to apologize...

Though it wasn’t his habit to come into town so often, Eames dropped by Ari’s coffee shop every morning for three days, giving her hugs to soothe the sad face growing longer each day that she shook her head at his inquiring eyebrow.

“Poor Arthur,” she mourned. “It’s all your fault, Eames!”

“Hey now!”

“Well, it _is!_ What are you going to do about it?”

Eames stared out of the coffee shop at Pioneer Square for a long moment. “I’m going to make a phone call,” he said finally, wincing a little at the hopeful look Ari gave him. He stepped outside and, with great reluctance, dialed a number he’d been avoiding for a long time.

“Eames, cher, is it you? Truly?”

“Hallo Mal.”

“Oh, what catastrophe could possibly bring you back in touch with the world you turned away from in such a huff?”

He rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t in a huff, Mal, you fired me.”

She tch’d. “Mon cher, it was the client that fired you, not I, and then you stormed away. But I am delighted to hear your voice and what is it that I can do for you now?”

“I know you keep track of everyone in the community here in Seattle. I’m looking for someone who might be an architect near your office.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, slim, my height, dark hair smoothed back, _very_ good tailoring, scowl like he’s just discovered his favorite dry cleaners has gone out of business?”

There was a pause. “A moment, cher, let me close my door.” He heard the quiet thud of the heavy solid wood and then she was back. “Do you have a name, Eames?” she asked softly.

“Arthur? Why, Mal? You know him?”

There was another pause. “You must first tell me what you want with Arthur.”

Eames was taken aback by the sharp protectiveness he could hear in her voice. “I met him at a coffee shop the other day and said the wrong thing. I wanted to apologize but he hasn’t come back.”

“Ahhh, that explains the _current_ mood like a thundercloud.” She blew out a breath. “We have given him a position here, Eames, but he is here only as a refuge. Mmm, but that is not my story to tell.” He could hear the tap of her fingernails on her desks a she considered. “If you are willing to come here, to him, bring with you some highly-caffeinated thing from this coffee shop, yes?”

“I’ll do better than that, Mal. I’ll bring the owner along too.”

“Oh, lovely. So he has made himself a friend despite his best efforts?”

Eames chuckled. “Looks like it. See you soon.” He went back inside and nodded to Ari. “Found him and he’s just around the corner. Can you hand off to your assistant for a short jaunt?”

She lit up. “I’ll pull some espresso and grab a pastry for him!”

* * *

Ari glanced at him curiously as they walked down the street. “You made one call and got an answer?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Eames.”

He sighed. “I have an old friend who’s still in architecture and she knows everything and everybody.”

She tilted her head at him. “I don’t wanna pry, Eames. I know you build beautiful treehouses and that’s good enough for me.”

“That and I buy all my coffee through you.” Eames smiled at her and she beamed back.

“Well, that’s because it’s the best. Has nothing to do with the massive discount you get for doing all the custom woodwork inside.”

He snorted. “You’re lucky I had all that scrap wood.”

“I _know!”_ Ariadne did a pleased little dance step beside him. “Oh! Here? Cobb Architecture?”

“So I understand.” Eames took a deep breath and led the way into the building.

Mal met them just inside the doors, pulling Eames into a hug and then giving Ariadne, her hands full, a thorough down and up look and then a nod. Ariadne returned the favour and they both smiled, clearly having found each other to be up to scratch.

Eames restrained an eyeroll. “Ariadne, Mallorie, Mal, Ari.”

“Delighted,” Mal said and pointed to a corner. “Arthur is just over there.”

 _“Arthur!”_ Ari shouted, silencing the whole office, and stomped over to him. “I was worried! You never came back and I missed you!” She plopped the coffee and paper bag onto his desk and gave him a quick hug when he stood up. Startled, Arthur returned it, looking over the top of her head at Mal and then registering Eames’ presence.

Eames gave him a lopsided smile and waggled his fingers, watching an ambiguous mix of emotions cross Arthur’s face before he finally settled on a reserved sort of bafflement.

“Er...”

Ariadne interrupted him, letting him go to slide the flaky baked good out of the bag and pose it on a napkin. “You have to promise you’ll come in tomorrow morning,” she said firmly. “Right?”

“I...” he started, only to have her put her hands on her hips and give him a fierce look. A tiny smile curved his mouth and caused a curl of interest to stir in Eames at the sight. “Okay, yes. I’ll stop for coffee in the morning.”

“Right.” Ari nodded and tugged Arthur in for another hug. “See you tomorrow!” She flitted past Eames and out the door, smacking his shoulder casually and smiling at Mal on the way. The interested silence of the office began to fill with chuckles and quiet conversations, and Eames felt a pang at the familiarity after so long away.

Mal put a hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. “Mon cher, will you stay for a chat? Dom is with a client at the moment, but he would be sad to have missed you.”

Eames glanced around and shook his head, trying to ignore the curious look Arthur was giving him. “Perhaps another time, Mal. Give him my regrets, will you?”

“I will do that,” she said, sighing. “But I will not let you escape for so long again.”

“Always with the threats,” he said lightly, teasing the way they always had, and forced himself to leave before it dragged him further off-balance.

* * *

Arthur watched Mal, surprised at the wistfulness she displayed when the scruffy hot guy left. They’d clearly been close at one time; Arthur looked away, knowing Mal would eventually corner him into a conversation about the whole thing. He glanced down at the cup of fragrant espresso on his desk, pain au chocolat perched next to it, and was thrown off by the little catch in his throat. He’d had a favorite coffee shop in New York, but he couldn’t imagine either of the owners doing what Ariadne had done if he’d missed a few morning coffees. Then again, he’d never have imagined Ariadne doing it, either. He ignored the mutterings of the office around him and sat down to sip the excellent coffee, feeling a tiny relaxation in his shoulders and stomach. As he took a bite of the pastry, he realized he was looking forward to going back tomorrow morning and he savored the taste of the chocolate and the buttery croissant layers all the more for the momentary brightness they signified in his life.


End file.
